


Silent Night

by hi_irashay



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: -ish again, -ish?, Angst, Hot and fresh from the kitchen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Lots of descriptions of blood on snow, M/M, Psychological Torture, SO MANY -ISHES SO LITTLE TIME, Team Angst Special, Telepathy, Torture, because duh, or lack thereof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hi_irashay/pseuds/hi_irashay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles’ every waking thought strayed back to the box of letters and the pain they promised.  He was haunted by T.M., the faceless adversary who drew Charles deeper into his web with every word.</p><p>Today was the seventh day, the last day of the longest week of Charles’ life.  He steeled his resolve as he approached the mailbox.  Today, it would end.  Today, come hell or high water.  </p><p> </p><p>(In which Charles receives threatening letters, and no small amount of chaos ensues for him and for Erik).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirenamuln](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirenamuln/gifts).



> This fic was written as a Snowflake gift for the incredible @kirenamuln, my partner in crime for all things angsty AND ALSO life in general. 
> 
> The only thing you need to know about this fic is that Benedict Cumberbatch is fancast as T.M. (obviously). Chapter titles are very, very vague allusions to the carol “Silent Night.”

Winter had arrived at the Xavier Mansion, blanketing the grounds in a layer of fluffy white snow that sparkled as far as the eye could see. _Rather unusual amount for early December,_ Charles thought to himself as he walked down the long drive to the mailbox. Getting the mail was a task he had relished from boyhood - the chance to get outside and leave the Mansion’s oppressive atmosphere, the half hour of relative alone time, the excitement at what might be waiting inside the box. Upon bringing this new bunch of mutants back to his childhood home, he had assumed the responsibility once more.

As the mailbox loomed into view, the feeling curling in Charles’ chest was not excitement, however - it was anxiety. His mind strayed back to his room on the fourth floor, to the black wooden box he kept shut with a plastic lock under his bed. Not that Erik would go digging, but the thought of him seeing what lay inside the box… well, Charles could not bear it. The thought of giving more pain to a man with an already disproportionate load of it made his stomach turn.

Thus, Charles had chosen not to share with Erik, or any of the others for that matter, the increasingly menacing letters he’d been receiving for the past 2 weeks. They had started off relatively innocuous, cut-and-paste letters that any person of wealth might receive. Allusions to secret knowledge, vague threats, ill-formed demands, nothing particularly troubling.

Then a week ago, the timbre had changed. The notes became handwritten - sharp, crabbed words scrawled on seemingly ancient paper. The first letter had perplexed Charles, giving him pause briefly before he stored it in the black wooden box with the others.

The second had made him nervous with its increasingly personal tone, as if the writer really could see inside his head and into his daily life. _How could anyone know about Erik?_ Charles had wondered, staring at a detailed description of his deeply suppressed feelings. He had managed to keep them even from Raven, hiding behind the guise of a growing friendship and a pretend attraction to Moira.

The third began to truly scare him, and Charles found could no longer ignore the writer’s words - they wound their way around Charles’ heart, squeezing it terrifyingly into action. The words dropped all pretense and became more sure and decided, leaving speculation far in their dust. They spelled out one name - _Erik_ \- and one outcome - _death_ \- should Charles not comply with the writer’s single demand: Charles’ mind. The writer did not offer any explanation for this demand, and signed the letter for the first time, using the initials “T.M.”

The fourth letter’s ink was smudged slightly, though Charles did not know whether it was from the freshly-fallen snow that covered the mailbox or from his own shaking hands as they grappled with the letter. The writer had a seemingly endless knowledge of ways to torture and kill, and devoted the majority of the lines of his letters to describing how he would use them on Erik.

The fifth letter caused Charles to break out into a cold sweat before he even broke the seal to read it. He read it on the walk back to the Mansion, pausing every few sentences to calm his racing heartbeat and accelerated breathing. Two sentences in particular were repeated several times throughout the letter - “I have nothing until I have you” and “Your mind will replace my void.” The academic in Charles was intrigued by the singleminded obsession that had not yet wavered in T.M.’s letters, as well as the meticulously crafted riddles and wordplay he invoked. The rest of him, however, was the most terrified he’d been since he first discovered his own mutation.

Charles was waiting at the mailbox the day the sixth letter arrived. He had questioned the postman about its sender, exploring every corner of his mind when his spoken answer was unsatisfactory. Charles tore the letter to shreds before desperately taping it back together to try to find something, anything, that would help him protect Erik. His mind - the target of T.M.’s obsession - had become a prison, effectively achieving what seemed to be T.M.’s ultimate goal. Charles’ every waking thought strayed back to the box of letters and the pain they promised. He was haunted by T.M., the faceless adversary who drew Charles deeper into his web with every word.

Today was the seventh day, the last day of the longest week of Charles’ life. He steeled his resolve as he approached the mailbox. Today, it would end. Today, come hell or high water.

With a deep breath and a fleeting look over his shoulder at the Mansion, Charles opened the mailbox, looking expectantly for the familiar aged paper and spiky handwriting. Instead, he found a single pine bough with a note tied to it - “Now or never.”

 

+++++++

 

Erik would never admit it out loud, or even think it if Charles were in range, but he did feel decidedly more cheerful during the holiday season. Which, to be sure, was not saying much - perhaps he felt like shoving Hank slightly less frequently, or thought marginally more kindly of Moira. Something about all the lights, all the people gathering together, all the warmth being displayed so openly… it brought him back to a happier time, a time before war and before Shaw. A time when he still had hope, love, and a family. Real ones, not just the makeshift version of each Charles was trying to force on him.

_Charles…_ If Erik were honest with himself, he thought fondly of Charles regardless of whether it was the holidays. The slight man with the innocent eyes and roguish grin, who challenged and soothed him in equal measures. He was a paradox wrapped in a cable knit sweater, and the first person in a long time to look at Erik without any hint of trepidation. Instead, Erik saw recognition swirling in the calm waters of Charles’ eyes. Recognition, care, and trust. Things Erik had long since written off as unnecessary complications to a driven life, yet to which he felt irrevocably drawn.

Erik had been in the village, picking up a few necessary groceries. The domesticity of their daily life still bothered him at times - these young mutants labored under such a false sense of security and normalcy - but at least running errands gave him the chance to escape their inquiring eyes, at least for a little while. A bag of produce swung from Erik’s arm as he rounded the bend, the long drive leading to the Xavier Mansion emerging into view with as much majesty and splendor as ever.


	2. Tender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are too smart a man to keep trying to do that,” said the taller man, his face inscrutable. Erik could not see Charles’ face, but the sudden slump of his shoulders at the man’s words put Erik on high alert.
> 
> “It seems I cannot read you,” Charles said, “Though I do not understand how come. Nor what you want from me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be some violence, ye be warned!

Charles stared at the note with no small amount of consternation - why, today of all days, had T.M. deviated? His heart began to beat faster as he looked around once more, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a dark smudge and adjacent bright glimmer at the edge of the surrounding forest. Charles looked down at the pine bough in his mittened hand before making the connection. He started moving towards the forest’s edge. It was slow going - the snow had fallen deeply, his boots sinking at least a foot in its depths as he walked off the plowed drive towards the treeline.

The dark smudge materialized into an imposing figure in a billowing black overcoat, and the bright glimmer turned into a garishly silver snowmobile with the words “Tall Man” emblazoned on the side. Charles couldn’t help but snort - surely this couldn’t be what “T.M.” stood for? He instinctively reached out with his mind, hoping to sense this man’s agenda before drawing face to face.

To his surprise, there was nothing there. Minds normally acted as beacons of light to Charles. Some shone brighter than others’ - Erik’s mind, for instance, could have been the lighthouse on a rocky, perilous shore - but all minds had a light of their own. Except for this man’s.

Frustrated, Charles drew nearer still. The imposing figure resolved into, sure enough, a very tall man with a long face, pronounced cheekbones, and eyes the raging color of an ocean squall. In spite of all their colors, however, his eyes were dead and lifeless. Charles reached out once more, but again was met with a gaping void of nothingness. He had never experienced this before, being unable to enter the mind of another living being. As Charles moved to stand in front of the man, he was filled with a fresh sense of foreboding.

“Now or never, is that right?” Charles asked, using all his willpower to keep his voice level and his gaze steady. He felt extremely unsettled at not being able to sense this man’s thoughts, and unnerved at not being able to see life behind his eyes.

“Now, it would seem,” drawled the man. “And I see you find my chosen moniker to be amusing.”

Charles let out another derisive snort in spite of his discombobulation. “It’s just not very ingenious, is it?”

The Tall Man did not overtly react to Charles’ disparagement, instead beginning to walk towards him. He bent to pick up an errant pine bough from the ground, shaking off the snow as he straightened up. “It is pithy. I thought you could respect that, Professor X.”

Charles did not respond, becoming keenly aware of the Tall Man’s proximity to him and the fact that he now held a potential bludgeoning tool in his hand. Fear spiking in his heart, he reached out with his mind again in desperation, only to tumble once more into the void where the man’s mind should have been.

+++++++

As Erik was about to turn up the drive to Xavier Mansion, he saw a flurry of movement in the corner of his eye. Two figures, one much taller than the other, standing next to a snowmobile. His curiosity piqued, Erik moved closer.

When he was around 50 yards away, Erik realized that the smaller figure was Charles. The taller figure was an unknown male in a slightly ridiculous black coat with whom Charles appeared to be engaging in calm discussion. Ordinary enough, Charles often headed any would-be impositions off by meeting them at the gate and working his mind magic. And yet… something about the taller man made the hair on the back of Erik’s neck stand on end. He inched closer, veering behind a stand of birch trees for cover.

“You are too smart a man to keep trying to do that,” said the taller man, his face inscrutable. Erik could not see Charles’ face, but the sudden slump of his shoulders at the man’s words put Erik on high alert.

“It seems I cannot read you,” Charles said, “Though I do not understand how come. Nor what you want from me.”

“My mutation keeps everyone and everything out, as you have seen,” the man stated. His voice was low and even, with an almost mechanical quality. “But, I subsequently cannot see in. I cannot read people at all.” He paused, circling behind Charles. “This is where you come in.”

“Why do you need to read people?” Charles asked, his shoulders tense underneath his heavy coat. “Their outsides tend to reflect their insides, anyway.”

The Tall Man chuckled, managing to imbue the soft laugh with an overwhelming aura of danger. “You know that’s not quite true, Dr. Xavier.” The man continued his circle, coming back round to stand in front of Charles. “Besides, you can do more than read, can’t you? You can control.”

Charles paused for a beat and Erik let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. _The parade of crazies wanting to rule the world never ends, does it?_ , Erik thought to himself. Charles apparently agreed. “That is utterly ridiculous, surely you can’t think-”

“Surely I cannot think what?” The man seemed to grow another head taller as he advanced on Charles, his coat billowing out behind him. “That you will not bend like the rest of them? I have not yet begun, Dr. Xavier.”

Quick as a flash he whipped the pine bough across Charles’ face with immense force, leaving myriad scratches across Charles’ cheeks. Charles cried out in surprise and pain as the taller man struck him again with the branch, and Erik was paralyzed by the sight of fine droplets of bright red blood - Charles’ blood - staining the otherwise pristine snow.

Erik instinctively left the cover of the birch trees in an effort to reach Charles, causing the tall man’s eyes to dart up and meet his. The man smiled, a sharp smile devoid of any actual pleasure.

“You brought company,” the man said to Charles. “Your ill-trained lapdog is here.” He dropped the bough and fisted his hand in Charles’ hair, forcing him to look at Erik. Charles’ pained features twitched as his eyes alighted upon Erik, an expression of pure torment stalking across his face.

“Charles?” Erik called, beginning to run towards the two men. “Who the fuck are you and what the hell do you want?” he spat.

“Erik, no, run-” Charles’ shout was cut off as the taller man knocked him over the head with a wooden staff Erik had not seen. In a fluid motion, the man picked up Charles’ limp body and threw it over the back of the snowmobile. He shot Erik another unreadable expression - they seemed to be the only kind this Tall Man knew how to make - before stowing the staff in the belt of his coat and swinging his leg over the snowmobile. The engine sputtered to life, and the tall man was off with Charles in the blink of an eye.

With a speed borne of panic and adrenaline, Erik dropped the bag of groceries and took off sprinting after the snowmobile. In spite of the vast expanse of white snow and green trees before him, all Erik saw was red. The spray of Charles’ blood from the pine bough, the pulsing of his own fear, the fiery rage at himself - for being discovered, and for subsequently putting Charles in harm’s way.

It took a full minute for Erik to remember himself and his powers. He stopped short, almost slipping on the snowy terrain, and reached out with his senses. He felt the snowmobile not too far in the distance, the various metal components grinding and sliding against the fringes of his awareness. To his surprise, the snowmobile was coming to a halt.

 _I’m coming, Charles,_ Erik thought, attempting to shout telepathically across the miles as he returned to his previous sprint. _If you can hear me, hang on._


	3. Quake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You will bend, Dr. Xavier.” The Tall Man’s tone was monotonous, a mere statement of fact as he stood over Charles’ cowering body. “You will bend, or you will perish. You are not my first resistant telepath, and you will not be the first to die.” 
> 
> He pulled the wooden staff out of his coat belt, and traced the lines of Charles’ limbs with its heel. It was a macabre caress, the gentle contact of hard wood on vulnerable flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More violence! Be wary if it's a no-no!

Charles came to under an evergreen tree, his body having been thrown haphazardly over a windblown snowbank by the Tall Man. He raised a hand to his head, both to check for external injuries and to try again at reading the Tall Man’s mind. Same as before, he heard nothing. Felt nothing, save for the growing lump on the back of his head where the Tall Man had knocked him unconscious. It was as if he were the only sentient being for miles, as if the man looming over him were merely another evergreen tree.

“Still haven’t got the picture, Dr. Xavier?” queried the Tall Man. “There is nothing inside for you to see. I explained rather clearly in my letters.” He slowly advanced upon Charles, accentuating each word with the wave of a pine branch he had picked up from the ground. “I have nothing,” he continued, tapping his temple for emphasis. “But, not anymore. Now I have you.”

Charles stared, for a moment captured by the hypnotic motions of the pine bough still in the Tall Man’s hand. A flick of the man’s wrist brought his attention back to the dire situation.

“You are mistaken, I’m afraid.” Charles’ voice sounded much stronger than he felt. “I can tell you almost everything, but I can give you nothing.” He raised his chin defiantly, scrambling to his feet. The Tall Man loomed over him, true to his name, and Charles found himself sending out a call to whoevers’ mind might be closest. _Help, please, someone._

The Tall Man struck with his fists first, having abandoned the pine bough. A punch to the stomach brought Charles to his knees, fervently struggling to stand back up. The Tall Man let him, seemingly patient, before striking again. After the second punch to the stomach Charles gave up all pretense of fighting back, moving on to survival mode. He wrapped his arms around his head, protecting his already tender skull and neck as the Tall Man kicked him in the side.

“You will bend, Dr. Xavier.” The Tall Man’s tone was monotonous, a mere statement of fact as he stood over Charles’ cowering body. “You will bend, or you will perish. You are not my first resistant telepath, and you will not be the first to die.” He pulled the wooden staff out of his coat belt, and traced the lines of Charles’ limbs with its heel. It was a macabre caress, the gentle contact of hard wood on vulnerable flesh.

Charles pulled himself on to his hands and knees, primal instinct taking over as his flight response kicked into high gear. He tried to crawl, half-frozen hands scrabbling for purchase on the snowy ground. He felt the wooden staff fall on his back once, twice, three times. The Tall Man was everywhere, whether with a fist or a bludgeon. Charles coughed, hazily noting the spots of blood appearing on the snow beneath him. In their brutal dance, he and the Tall Man had made a grotesque modern artwork - a blank white canvas of snow marred with broad sweeps of red and black, fresh and drying blood.

The Tall Man threw his staff to the ground and attacked anew, again fisting his hand in Charles’ hair and forcing his head back. He curled his other hand around Charles’ neck before drawing him close, panting heavily in his ear while Charles’ oxygen supply dwindled dangerously.

“Give up, Dr. Xavier,” the Tall Man growled, spit flying in his vehemence. “It is the only mercy you can hope for.” Charles saw spots as the Tall Man’s hand tightened around his neck. He tried to speak, but only garbled sounds and high-pitched whines came out.

A sudden movement startled them both, causing the Tall Man to loosen his grip and release Charles. Through half-closed eyes, Charles saw Erik exploding through the trees, sweat pouring off his brow as he raised his arms. In an instant the engine of the snowmobile growled to life, gears churning menacingly as Erik manipulated the metal within. The Tall Man stilled, showing a spark of humanity for the first time as he regarded Erik with mild alarm.

 _CHARLES._ Erik’s mind screamed at him, battlemad and panic-blind. Charles attempted to call out to Erik telepathically, but the effort was beyond him as he fell forward on to the ground. He felt the crackle of power slicing through the air as Erik returned his focus to the snowmobile, revving it up further.

With one last fleeting look at Erik, the Tall Man retrieved his wooden staff from the ground and advanced upon Charles. Before he had moved more than three steps, Erik erupted into action. The snowmobile shot forward, as if loosed by an invisible trigger, aiming straight for the Tall Man. Charles was vaguely aware of the man’s body hitting the ground and Erik’s triumphant expression before succumbing to unconsciousness.


	4. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You never shut up about how we’re supposedly a team, but there was no team in this. It was just you out there.” Erik paused to collect his thoughts, Charles remaining blissfully silent. “You… you could have told me, you know. I would have helped you.”
> 
> “Thank you, Erik,” said Charles, speaking out loud for the first time. “I do know that, really.” He breathed deeply, taking a moment of contemplative silence. “I guess I, too, forgot myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I could only torture them for so long without something more snuggly. What is the H without the C, after all?

The moment seemed frozen in time, and Erik was acutely aware of the Tall Man’s lifeless body lying crushed on the ground as the noise of the snowmobile stopped abruptly with Erik’s relinquishing of control. Knocked loose by the vibrations of the passing snowmobile, snow fell from the trees at the same pace as the blood droplets from Charles’ face. Erik could not tear his eyes away from the Tall Man, looking so pale and harmless on the forest floor still clutching his wooden staff. _That damned object,_ Erik thought. _People have no idea the harm simple elements can cause._

A soft moan from Charles pulled him out of his trance. Erik immediately hastened to Charles’ side, stumbling slightly as he waded through the snow. The Tall Man’s administrations had again left Charles’ blood spattered all over the bank and pine trees, bathing the formerly immaculate forest in crimson. The traces of iron in the blood called to Erik, almost louder than the ice blue of Charles’ eyes as they bore into Erik’s.

 _Erik…_ Charles’ voice swirled inside his head. _I know you hate this… but I-_

“Shhh, it’s alright.” Erik knelt down besides the man, taking stock of each cut, bruise, and fracture the Tall Man had left behind. He cursed inwardly - it had been a very thorough encounter, and tendrils of guilt wove their way through Erik’s mind as he realized the full extent of the damage. Charles was in for a world of pain.

“What can I do, what do you need?” Erik’s hands hovered tentatively over Charles’ prone body, worried about hurting the man further. _As if that were possible,_ he thought grimly.

 _Just stay with me for a bit, I need a moment._ Charles took a few rattling breaths, before meeting Erik’s eyes with a small smile. _You won’t hurt me, Erik._

Erik frowned slightly. “You may be allowed to talk to me like this, but no one said this was carte blanche to enter my head.” He unwound the scarf from around his neck, bringing it to Charles’ face and beginning to gently wipe off the blood. “Besides, I think you need more than a moment.”

Charles’ eyelids fluttered shut as Erik continued his tender administrations, cleaning off Charles’ face while humming quietly under his breath. The humming continued as he formed a ball of snow into a makeshift cold compress, pressing it softly against the growing lump on the back of Charles’ head. It was a melody long forgotten, buried in his past - his mother used to sing it to him whenever he could not sleep at night. Erik suspected Charles’ involvement in his head, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he cleaned the last of the blood, but chose to let it lie. _For now._

“Think you can sit up?” Erik queried, moving to assist Charles in doing so.

 _Let’s see,_ sent Charles, accepting Erik’s proffered hand and rising to a sitting position. His breathing became more labored and he swayed dangerously - Erik immediately repositioned himself behind Charles to help him stay upright.

“Lean against me, easy now.” Erik coaxed Charles’ body to be flush against his, back to chest, wrapping his arms around Charles’ torso for further support.

Prickles of guilt tugged at the edge of Erik’s consciousness once more. “Look, Charles… I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you.” Erik closed his eyes, bending down to lean his cheek on Charles’ as his hands idly stroked Charles’ chest. “I… forgot myself, didn’t even think of using the snowmobile. Had I used my powers from the beginning, I would have found you sooner, and…” he trailed off, unable to finish the thought. He drew comfort from the strength of Charles’ heartbeat beneath his hands, but found his remorse to be insurmountable.

Charles pressed his cheek gently against Erik’s, hissing slightly at the increased pressure. _Reacting on instinct is nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, it sounds like personal growth to me that your instinct was to protect rather than to attack._

Erik barked out a harsh laugh. “Damn, Professor, don’t you ever turn it off?” Charles chuckled softly.

Erik continued. “I guess you do, though - you never shut up about how we’re supposedly a team, but there was no team in this. It was just you out there.” Erik paused to collect his thoughts, Charles remaining blissfully silent. “You… you could have told me, you know. I would have helped you.”

“Thank you, Erik,” said Charles, speaking out loud for the first time. “I do know that, really.” He breathed deeply, taking a moment of contemplative silence. “I guess I, too, forgot myself.”

Charles leaned his head back on Erik’s shoulder. “It’s funny how fear makes you forget the important things, like who you can trust and who has your back.” Charles turned his head so his lips lightly grazed the side of Erik’s neck with every word, sending shivers down his spine. “I won’t forget that again, I promise you,” Charles finished, his tone lowering with each syllable.

Charles pursed his lips together, planting the slightest of kisses on the column of Erik’s throat. A soft brush of lips against exposed skin. Erik’s arms reflexively tightened around Charles’ torso in response, pulling him against his chest as gently as possible. They stayed that way for several minutes, hearts beating in time, until Charles’ breathing slowed significantly - in spite of the pain, in spite of the cold, Charles had fallen asleep.

Erik maneuvered himself so he could place one arm under Charles’ shoulders and one under his knees, lifting the smaller man in to his arms in one smooth motion. He carried Charles back up to the Mansion, pausing only once to look back at the gristly tableaux the afternoon had made. The light from the setting sun seemed to set the scene on fire, orange and yellow mixing with red, the glare consuming the Tall Man’s motionless form as Erik turned back towards the Mansion.

Charles gave a soft sigh in his sleep as he curled into Erik’s arms, turning his face in to Erik’s chest. With a shake of his head, Erik turned back and continued his ascent. He chose his steps carefully, doing his best not to jostle Charles’ tired and beaten body. At long last the Mansion came in to view, lights twinkling from every window. They spoke of comfort, of warmth, of soft blankets and hot beverages within. They spoke of safety and security, of a place for Charles to recover and mend.

Erik gave Charles’ body a gentle squeeze as he trudged the last few steps up the drive. _We are here, Charles._ Erik looked down at the man, still peacefully at rest in his arms. _We are home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo when I first wrote this for Snowflake, I originally had an idea for a sexy epilogue of sorts (because what point is an epilogue if it's not sexy, amirite?). However, I failed to jot down any notes or any inspiration, so I've since lost the idea. If folks are interested, though, I'd be happy to wrack the brain and make an attempt? Let me know! 
> 
> Regardless, thanks for joining me and @kirenamuln on this journey of angst and torture!


End file.
